Oceans Deep
by darkangel9872005
Summary: Harry didn't know who these men were that had grabbed him from Aunt Petunia's garden. They hadn't spoken a word to him just tossed a strange silvery cloak over them all. Using a stick that somehow made his voice disappear. He was in front of a strange arch that swayed in the nonexistent wind. They then tossed him through and the rush of the sea filled his ears and he knew no more.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I own the Argeneau series...just am a big fan:)**_

_**A/N: Hope you like the prologue of my new crossover:) Please review! I read all of them!**_

_**Please also follow and fan. If you see a typo please point it out to me. Thank you!**_

_**~Shannon~**_

**Song of Enticement**

Come away O'childe to Ocean's deep

Where Legends thrive and Legends creep.

Where waters churn and treasures hide.

Come away O'childe

Come get lost in the tide.

Listen now and hear thy call

The song of the sea

And Fall under its thrall

Deep into chasms thee fall

Where ships lay in a cavernous hall

Scales glisten in lunar light

Voices lost in oceans might

Come away O'childe to Oceans deep

Where Shadows dance and Shadows weep

Where Legends sing and thy body they keep

Come away O'childe to the Oceans deep

**Prologue**

He dreamed sometimes. For a while back in the early days, when he was four or five, they were more nightmares then proper dreams. Green light and a haunting echo of laughter were always what followed him into waking. Accompanied by clammy sweat that would plaster his cousin's cast offs to his underfed form. Those, he considered, were his dark days. The days where every moment was enshrouded in a haze of fear and the belief that he was lesser than the ones who claimed to raise him in "normalcy." He hadn't known his name back then. Not really. His relatives always referred to him as "boy" or "freak" and there hadn't been anyone around to question it.

Those were his ignorant days, where he was illiterate and he couldn't improve his knowledge because it had been forbidden to him. He was the servant they had to keep underfoot, unwanted. His parents, as they called them, drunk drivers. Though he didn't know what that meant until he went to primary. He only had been allowed to go because they feared what the neighbors would think if he didn't. He doesn't really know when the dreams changed. Perhaps it was the day he found out his name, Harry Potter, in that rowdy classroom. Where his cousin had already established his abnormal nature. The children, ostracizing him since the very beginning. He had only reinforced that belief in his oddness when he learned rapidly and always kept his nose in books.

Reading, writing, he was like a sponge. Absorbing any knowledge that was bestowed upon him on the very first try. Eidetic memory is what the teachers called it. They were astounded, praising him to be a child genius. They had wanted to test him out of primary, but his relatives forbid it. The teacher's claims about him falling on deaf ears. If it didn't involve their son they didn't want to know. So he had been given free reign of the library. Plowing through book after book and finally finishing the last upon his eighth year of living. The teachers were amazed and tested him unofficially behind his relative's back. They never told him the results because he didn't ask.

To Harry, it didn't matter. His Aunt and Uncle would never do anything to aide him in his education or otherwise. The instructors would then give him books to read, gradually getting higher in difficulty after those tests. Perhaps it started then. The changing of his dreams. The glow of burning red strands of hair, soft forest green eyes and a gentle caress of lips on his head as he was rocked in a warm embrace. Or maybe it had been that day where Harry had found his pearl. That day started out just like any other day.

He had woken to the hard rapping on the door to the room beneath the stairs. His Aunt wanting him to start on breakfast. Dust falling upon his head as his cousin ran down the steps above him. His girth making each step creak. It had been summer holidays and his relatives wanted to go on a family outing. With the sweltering heat, they had been talking of venturing to the coast. To have a picnic on the beach. Where they could swim if it got too hot. Harry was to go to Mrs. Figg's house. An old woman who lived by herself that had dozens of cats. He liked Mrs. Figg. She always stuffed him full of warm tea and biscuits. He could use what he ate at her house to hold him over a couple of days. Her fluffy cats that he felt were always spying on him were nice too. Letting him scratch them behind the ears. Their soft fur silky on his skin.

But that day, Mrs. Figg had errands to run and she wouldn't be around to watch him. So grudgingly, his relatives had let him attend their outing. He had been ecstatic. Though his excitement died a little at the threat of no food if he performed any "funny business." He was to carry their things and set up their blanket. Then he was to go off on his own to entertain himself and be back by the time the sun was setting in the sky. He realized then that they could care less what would happen to him. Not caring if he drowned or so he thought. But Harry had never seen the ocean before that day, so he put any lingering bitter thoughts behind him.

He remembered standing on the shore of the beach, water crashing against his feet, gazing out into the distance. A castle looming to the right on the horizon. Bamburgh beach they called it. His relatives wanted to go to something with a dramatic setting and they thought having a back drop of a castle of old would be fitting. That had been the one time he ever really agreed with his relatives about something. For it was majestic. Breathtaking. Never had his eyes gazed upon something so vast. He remembered feeling humbled in that moment. Dwarfed by something so powerful and so much bigger than himself. He had wondered then, what it would be like to be swept away in the turbulent waters of the sea.

To swim alongside the dolphins and sharks. Powerful fins slicing through the currents. He had looked up at the sky, eyes running over the arches and curves of the clouds. Committing the poetic scene to memory. Noting the different birds and life forms in the habitat before him. It was then he had felt it. The yearning, to feel the salt on his skin, water sliding over his arms as he soared through the waves. He had run into the sea. Desperately wanting to feel its caress. He had never swam before, never been shown how it was done, no one had cared enough. But he had to be in that water. It had called to him, something deep inside himself stirred as he had gazed upon the rocky sea that day.

Calling. Beckoning. _Come Away O'Childe to Oceans deep…._summoning_…_It was a voice carried on the wind. A haunting melody that vibrated through his soul. Igniting a fire, a need so deep, it was a chasm that could only be filled by the rush of the sea. As he had run into the raging shore, the water crashing over his head hauling him out, it had felt like he was being embraced by someone who loved him. He had been dragged along the current out towards the dark depths, the voice grew stronger, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Oxygen escaping him. But he had no fear. Warmth filled his heart as his lungs constricted. The current rocking him gently as the sea song filled his ears. He remembered smiling as he saw a shape moving toward him. A blaze of red hair in the shimmering light beneath the waves and a flash of silver scales. He remembered reaching out with the last shreds of air escaping his lungs, his fingers shaking in the strain, another hand stretching toward his own. Webbed elongated fingers ever reaching and shinning emeralds.

But before they touched, Harry had been grabbed by the collar of his shirt and pulled toward shore. His pale faced Aunt, pushing against his chest in an effort to get him to breathe. His ears ringing in white noise. He coughed up water then, his Aunt sitting back to turn him on his side so he could get it all out. He pressed his hands into the sand, feeling the grains slide between his fingers. It had occurred to him that he had almost drown. His eyes had widened at the thought. He had wondered if he would have if his Aunt had not saved him. Or would he be jetting through the water with shinning silver scales of his own. Harry had closed his eyes as he listened to his Aunt berate him for making her have to go out there to save him. He sighed at the loss of dinner that night, wishing that he had something to remember the creature with that fiery mane of hair.

And when he opened his eyes, there it was, his pearl. A shinning milky silver and opal sphere, which shined blue in the sunlight. If he held it tight, he could hear the crashing of waves upon the shore, and the echoes of bird calls on the wind. Perhaps that day had been when his dreams had changed. The day he had first heard the ocean's call. Since then, he had loped some leather string around the pearl and he wears it around his neck. And his nightmares had been replaced with the depths of endless wonders.

Dreams of an underwater city. Lonesome. Lost in time to some catastrophe. If he squints as his dreaming self pumps his tail as he swims, he can hear the voices of the people that had inhabited it. In the dream, he explores the vast streets that have become home to the life of the sea. In every dream since that day, he has always dreamt of exploring that city beneath the waves with a powerful tail. He learned not to speak of his dreams to anyone after he was beat the first time he mentioned it.

He had been locked in the cupboard for a week after that with no food. Not even being let out to relieve himself. So by the end of his sentence he had been forced to clean up his room on weak limbs. He never mentioned his dreams or anything weird that happened around him again after that. Not the time the teacher's hair turned blue when she annoyed him, or the time he had been running from his cousin and his gang and somehow ended up on the school roof. Somehow, his relatives always found out though and he would always be punished for his transgression. But that was alright. In his mind that only confirmed his growing belief that he was different. Special. He could do things. Unexplainable things. Things that, if he was going by the fantasy stories he would read in the library, were considered to be magic. Though he never voiced his suspicion due to his relatives abhorring the word.

He knew since that day he had found his pearl two years ago that he was meant for greater things. That he did not belong to the world of man. He felt stretched thin, like his body was drying out, his skin cracking under the beating sun. The only relief being the sparse showers he would be allowed, the garden hose or the rain. The sea beckoned him. It filled his ears with the sounds of waves crashing upon the shore and the grains of sand sliding between his toes. The wind rushing in his ears and the scent of salt filling his lungs as he breathed. Someone was waiting for him, he just had to answer the call. _Come away O'childe to Oceans Deep. Where Legends sing and thy body they keep. Come away O'childe to Oceans deep._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I own the Argeneau series...just am a big fan:)**_

_**A/N: Hope you like chapter 1 of my new crossover:) Please review! I read all of them!**_

_**Please also follow and fan. If you see a typo please point it out to me. Thank you!**_

_**~Shannon~**_

Chapter 1

The summer began, just as all summers do for the residents of Privet Drive. With humid air that made one yearn for a tall glass of water and cookouts in the backyard. Cloudless skies made for a beautiful day to go to the park or be out riding bikes. In other words the residents of the neighborhood were out enjoying the summer holiday. All except for one. A child by the name of Harry Potter, age 10 sat on his haunches wiping sweat from his brow. His hand smearing dirt over the curious lightning shaped scar on his forehead. His eyes were closed as he breathed in deeply, raven black hair falling gently down his shoulders. His eyes opened to reveal a bottomless aquatic green that glowed with inner light. He was small for a ten year old, looking half his age due to the lack of nutritious meals from his relatives.

He wore clothes that dwarfed his small frame enhancing his gaunt cheeks and chapped skin. Highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and the dry cracks that went down the sides of his face. His skin, rough like sand paper. The clothes were cast offs from his pig of a cousin, too big on his small frame but his relatives refused to spend money on him. Plunging his small hands into a bag of soil sitting next to him, he continued to tend to the garden of flowers around him. Planting the last batch of petunias, Harry rose from his knees. Dusting of his overly large trousers that were held up with some rope. He hefted up the bag of soil and waddled to the storage shed. He deposited the bag in the corner of the old shed with a sigh. Wiping sweat from his brow, he glanced back toward the house.

He could see his aunt through the window of the kitchen. She was making something. Most likely some biscuits for his whale of a cousin. Shaking his head to dispel the thought, he walked to the back door with the intent of going inside. Grasping the knob, he twisted his wrist and pushed open the door. A blast of cool air slammed into his face.

"Boy! Get inside and shut that door! You're wasting good money standing there looking stupid!" Shouted his uncle from the living room. Harry quickly did as he was told. Walking forward he could see his uncle sitting on the couch watching something on the telly. His heavy girth spilling over the sides of the couch. Harry walked quickly toward the kitchen before his uncle could start ranting at him. Walking through the kitchen doorway he spotted his cousin sitting at a table with a plate piled high with biscuits and cuppa in front of him. His mouth watered slightly. The kitchen was large with an island off to the side, the table where Dudley sat in the middle of the room. Windows lined the walls as well as one sat above the sink. The stove was to the sinks left where his aunt, who had been tending the stove turned to him and frowned in distaste.

"Boy! What do think you are doing coming in here with your hands all dirty like that? Well go wash up!" Yelled his aunt. Putting his head down, Harry quickly walked to the sink to wash his hands. His cousin snickering in the background. He could hear his uncle lumbering into the room.

"What's the freak done now pet?" His uncle asked. His aunt started to respond but trailed off when Harry turned on the faucet. For once he did, an overwhelming force swept over him. The rush of water filled his ears, its cool liquid dripping down his fingers. His eyes took on a faraway look as he heard the haunting voice on the wind. _Come away O'childe to the Oceans deep. Where shadows dance and shadows weep…._luminescent fish burst from the faucet in motes of silver light. Colors shifting on their scales as light glittered about them like tiny diamonds.

Distantly he heard his relatives shriek. Soon that faded as the song filled him to bursting. His pearl was a heavy weight upon his chest. Gently pulsing like the lapping of waves on the shore. Just as it had suddenly began, it stopped. The rush of waves fading as if it had never been. Fish vanishing in motes of light. Water dripped from his fingertips when he glanced at them. The faucet had been turned off. He glanced upon its lever, spotting a slender hand. Following it up its arm to his grim faced aunt. Her eyebrows drawn into an angry line. An icy fear crawled up his spine at her expression. He had done something again.

"Go up and clean the attic! Go before I have you beat for your freakishness!" Harry scrambled to obey. He wanted to protest, his throat dry from the many hours beneath the unforgiving heat of the sun, but he feared the consequences. Running out of the kitchen, his uncles loud yells of anger coming from the room he just left, Harry scrambled up the stairs. Panting tiredly once he reached the top, he grabbed hold of the string to the attic. Pulling, he proceeded to climb up, only stopping to rest once he had pulled up the stairs and shut the attic door. Looking up he was in a dark room, dust was everywhere. It seemed everywhere he looked it coated some surface or another. A window took up the far wall, so dusty barely any light shown through it. Taking a breath, he reached into his shirt to pull out his pearl. Rubbing it between his fingers, he heard the gentle crash of waves. Instantly it calmed his frantically beating heart.

Getting up he proceeded to clean for the few hours. Dusting off surfaces, putting things his relatives didn't need nor use in a pile beside the attic door. Hours later, he was picking up a box to settle it on the floor, in order to look though it when something fell out. Curious, Harry put the box down to pick up the object. It was a notebook. It was old, the pages yellowing with age. He was going to place it back in the box, but the name Andrew Evans on the cover, stopped him. This was the name of his grandfather. Smiling at the piece of history he held and the chance to learn something about the man he never met, Harry sat down. His grandparents had died before he was born. At least that is what his aunt told him when he asked. Harry held the book in awe. He was always told that no one would ever love a freak like him, but he liked to think that perhaps, his grandparents and parents did. Reverently he cradled the book in his lap as he opened it to its first page.

_Evans, Andrew 30 June 1959_

_Dear Diary,_

_Sorrow fills me. Today my wife, Martha and I, have just returned from another visit to the doctor. The results of the tests were bleak. Martha came home in tears. Alas, she has taken refuge in our room and has yet to leave the bed. I am at a loss as to what I should do to comfort her. Whilst it is true we have our darling Petunia, we were hoping for our sweet daughter to have a companion to grow up with. But unfortunately it is not meant to be. My wife is barren, the doctors have informed us that our precious Petunia is a miracle child, and my wife cannot have any more children. Truly this was a stab in our hearts, my wonderful little daughter not even two yet, can sense that something is wrong. For she crawled right into her mother's arms and has not left them since. It is a sad day my diary, when a man learns his wife cannot have any more children….._

Shock filled Harry as he read and then reread the entry of the diary. If this was to be believed then Harry was not related to the people down stairs at all. What of his mother? How was she Lily Evans if Martha Evans had been barren? Was his mother adopted? If so, then why wasn't he with her family? So many questions that he had no answer too. Perhaps this journal would enlighten him. At the very least, it would give him some insight onto the type of person the man his mother considered to be a father was like. The banging on the attic door startled him from his musing.

"Boy! Are you done yet?! Come down here and start preparing dinner!" Dinner? How long had he been up here cleaning? Harry glanced to the window to see the sun beginning to set. Quickly stuffing the journal into his overly large pants he made his way out of the attic. His aunt was waiting for him in the hallway.

"Come, you are to prepare meatloaf and roast vegetables. I have already made brownies for dessert. You will be allowed one spoon of meatloaf and a cup of the vegetables. No more than that! After you are to go to your cupboard. I will do the dishes tonight. A friend is coming over for tea and I don't want you underfoot. Am I clear?" His aunt asked.

"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry said meekly as they walked down the stairs toward the kitchen. After preparing the dinner, Dudley making a ruckus about not wanting to eat vegetables, Harry ate his share quickly before dashing toward his cupboard. Sitting on his threadbare mattress, he quietly took out the journal to place under his bed. His fingers brushing his pear, making his ears ring with the call of gulls. Shaking his head, he lay back staring at the dusty light bulb above his head. The cupboard was small, spider webs hung from the ceiling, their makers scurrying along the walls. The space was cramped with only one shelf to keep his meager belongings. Time crawled by slowly as he waited for the house to be filled with the sounds of his relatives getting ready for bed. At last, shortly after his aunts friend left his relatives retired upstairs.

Still Harry didn't move until there was no sound but the gurgling snores coming from upstairs. Eagerly Harry reached for the journal. Clicking on the light above him, he opened the book to an entry further in. He began to read…

_Evans, Andrew 26 January 1960_

_Dear diary,_

_It has been a long road since we discovered my wife's condition. But though, she sometimes cries when she thinks I do not hear her, we have gotten closer as a family. We have resolved to spoil our little girl rotten, in light of everything. We are taking our little girl to the coast in four days' time. Bamburgh. There is a castle there that overlooks the waters. My baby girl has only seen them in story books, so we thought we would show her, and perhaps bring a little magic in to her life. I am told by my colleagues that there is an ancient legend that dwells upon those shores. Perhaps we can find a local to regale its tale to us. It sounds like something truly wondrous. The tale of the Hydrarchos…._

Harry sucked in a breath as salt filled his lungs. The name of the story resonated with something inside of him. His pearl pulsed in warmth. The sound of water filling his ears. Hydrarchos. Harry wondered what it meant. Hearing noise above him he quickly shut off the light, stuffing the journal beneath his mattress. He held his breath as heavy footsteps creaked down the stairs toward the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and the crunch of teeth as footsteps sounded outside of his cupboard. A grumble of useless freak as his uncle heaved himself up the stairs and Harry decided not to try his luck anymore that night. Turning over he tried to go to sleep, his stomach growling in protest. He fell into a troubled slumber. The tale of the Hydrarchos spinning round in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I own the Argeneau series only am a big fan:)

Please comment, fan and favorite

Chapter 2

Leaves danced on the wind. Their colors glistening in the sun as they flit around on the breeze. Laughter resounded in the air as children frolicked and played on the playground at the park. All save one child made merry. Harry Potter took shelter from the sun beneath a large oak twenty feet away from the other children. Hidden away where his cousin and his gang couldn't see him. His small fingers wrapped tight around his pearl as he gazed longingly at the others. Hidden in the folds of his shirt was his grandfather's diary. He hadn't had the chance to read any of it for the past few days. Glancing around and making sure that no one would see him he carefully took out the diary and turned to the next entry.

_Evans, Andrew 30 January 1960_

_Dear Diary,_

_We arrived in Bamburgh today….._

Harry snapped the book shut as he heard leaves crunch as if someone was coming towards him. Tucking the book into his trousers he snapped his head in every direction. Seeing no one besides the children far away he started to relax until two thick arms grabbed him from behind and picked him up. Struggling he tried to break free, moving his head back to look at his attacker, he paled at the site of a skeletal mask. Opening his mouth to scream, the man in the mask waved a stick and his voice disappeared. Struggling in earnest now, he bent down and bit the man on the arm. Shouting in pain the man dropped him and he ran.

The man cursed behind him and then the sound of his feet hitting the ground in pursuit. Running past trees deeper into the park, Harry frantically tried to scream. Tears pouring down his face in fear. There was a fountain up a head, no time to go around as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the masked man running after him, the voice stealing stick clutched tightly in his hand. The man was wearing black robes, black gloves and boots made of some sort of reptile. Harry turned his head back toward his front as he saw the man point the stick toward him.

"Bombarda!" Harry dove out of the way as the ground exploded out from underneath him. Crying out silently, Harry landed face first in the fountain with a splash. _Come away O'childe to Oceans Deep. _"I've got you now you little twirp!" The masked man yelled as Harry pushed himself up in the fountain. Water sloshing around his hands, soaking through clothes. The water pulsed around him as the man came up to him. A hand grabbed Harry's shoulder roughly intending to pull him from the water. _Where Legends thrive and Legend Creep…._Scales erupted beneath the man's grip causing him to lose his hold. Giving a shout of surprise, as the scales ran down Harry's arms, nail darkening, growing to form claws. Harry felt a burning heat coil around his stomach and build up at the back of his throat. He could feel his teeth sharpen as the heat became unbearable.

The man went to grab him again. _Where Legends Sing and thy body they keep….._blue flames erupted from Harry's mouth consuming the man, when finally the last licks of the flames extinguished. Harry could see no signs of the man and his mask. Harry's black hair swayed in the breeze, the sounds of laughter distant on the air. No other sound could be heard as Harry stumbled from the fountain. Scales, sharp nails and teeth disappearing as if they had never been. Clothes wet and clinging to his body. Harry glanced at the water. Then a soft whimper could be heard that erupted into a loud cry as Harry regained his voice once again. Of the masked man only ash remained. _Come away O'Childe to Oceans Deep. Where Shadows dance and Shadows weep. _


End file.
